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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181606">Seasons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson'>fawatson</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:01:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,429</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181606</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Piotr's and Olivia's relationship.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Trick or Treat Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Seasons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/gifts">sophiegaladheon</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Disclaimer:</b> I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span class="u">Summer</span> </p><p>Piotr paused on the steps leading to the terrace and looked across to the deck chair by the water.  Olivia sat there, knitting basket on the little table beside her, fingers working deftly at needles and blue yarn, while by her feet played a stocky young lad and a brown and black puppy, and a toddler in fluffy yellow dress who seemed fascinated with the sparkly bows on her shoes (which she was pulling undone).  He smiled, tension easing from his shoulders as he watched them unaware.  This – <i>this</i> was what they had all fought for, those long and bloody years.  He walked briskly to his family and picked up his daughter, throwing her high in the air making her squeal with delight, before he returned her to her mother’s feet. </p><p>“Father!” </p><p>Piotr found his legs hugged, leaving him slightly off-balance as he bent to kiss his wife.  </p><p>“You are well?”  Piotr enquired.  </p><p>“Fine,” Olivia answered, right hand stroking her rounded abdomen while she reached up with her left to grasp her husband’s hand and bring it down to rub her face against it.  “You are back early from Court.”  She spoke evenly but he sensed her question.  </p><p>“Old men - who ought to know better but seem to have left sense behind - muttering and complaining; young men currying favour and jockeying for position when they really ought to be trying to serve….”  Piotr frowned his disapproval.  “Why Yuri puts up with the toadies I cannot understand; but since Xav retired to his estates he has changed.” </p><p>“Peace-time manoeuvres are different from battle tactics.”  Thus spoke the experienced society hostess, who had imbibed party politics with her mother’s milk.  </p><p>Piotr shrugged, “Yuri was different when there was a war to fight.  In the end, I couldn’t stand watching it any longer and begged my leave.  I said I was worried because you were not well with this pregnancy.”</p><p>“While in fact you find me basking, contented, gorging on nut cakes, and growing ever-fatter.”    </p><p><span class="u">Autumn</span> </p><p>Olivia let slip the peeled nut into the basin that rested beside her before she selected another.  The chestnut tree in the walled kitchen garden had born a bumper crop this year, which was all very well, except they did not keep.  She wielded the little hooked knife expertly as she dug the sharp end into the tough outer skin and peeled it back.  That was the easy bit.  Next, she scraped a bit of the thin, papery, inner skin off and ever-so-carefully, gently, pulled.  Damn!  Just a small piece had come off before the skin had torn.  Piotr’s hands were more skilled than hers.  The hillmen had taught him the knack in the war.  It was a poor man’s food, after all – a taste he had acquired when he had had to live off the land.  She had been safely off-world, and only encountered chestnuts after she married.  In truth, if she never ate another she would be just as pleased.  But Piotr liked them.  And the tree had proved bountiful.  Cook and the kitchen maids had made jar after jar of chestnut butter and tonight’s goose was to be stuffed with chestnuts.  That is – if she ever finished the bowl she had agreed to peel.  She placed another peeled nut into the half-full basin to her left before reaching for a new one.  Her fingertips were wrinkled from the water in which the chestnuts soaked, water grown cold while she scraped intent on her task.   </p><p>A mound of pale peeled chestnuts filled the basin when a large calloused hand gently removed the knife and raised one hand to be kissed.  Piotr frowned at the wet skin, but said nothing, just deftly pulled a soft cloth out of one pocket with which he dried her hands. A small jar emerged from another pocket, from which he took a dollop of smelly yellow cream which he worked into her hands. </p><p>“Horse liniment?”  Olivia laughed.  “You are treating my hands with horse liniment!” </p><p>“Nothing but the best for my horses,” Piotr replied. </p><p>“Your beloved horses,” Olivia shook her head in mock sadness.  </p><p>“Could I love you any less than my favourite mare?”</p><p><span class="u">Winter</span> </p><p>Not for the first time Piotr looked at Olivia with admiration: elegant, smiling, and deferential as she made her curtsey to the Emperor, before accepting his hand and sweeping into a waltz, opening the party now that the ceremonial tithing had finished.  They circled the floor: beautiful Vor matron, wife of Yuri’s most loyal Count, dancing with the dashing hero-ruler from the Cetagandan war.  </p><p>No one would have guessed how she had grown to distrust this Emperor – how much she disliked him.  </p><p>“You never fought with him,” Piotr had reminded her, more than once these last few years.  “In the field, his brilliance outshone everyone else.  I am <i>alive</i> because of his ability to command men and positive genius for innovative battle tactics.”  </p><p>“My father almost died because of that genius – that <i>unstable</i> genius.”</p><p>“You don’t know that,” Piotr protested, as he had many times before.  He had never wanted to believe that unsavoury rumour that Xav’s sudden illness last year had really been poison. </p><p>“No, I don’t <i>know</i>,” Olivia retorted, “but I <i>believe</i>.”  After a minute she added, “and I know he has always been jealous of my father.” </p><p>Piotr sighed.  There was no denying it.  The Vorbarra family had always been rife with factions.   And Prince Xav had commanded interplanetary support, and through that, immense wealth, which he had used unstintingly in support of the war, but which had left Yuri feeling insecure, especially once the war was finished and Xav retired in wealth and comfort while Yuri struggled to rule a bankrupt kingdom.  </p><p>“Once he is married, and with an heir or two, he will settle.”  </p><p>“<i>If</i> he marries – he shows no signs of it.  As if any respectable Vor woman would have him, given the way he carries on.”  </p><p>“The Emperor?  Counts with marriageable daughters are falling over themselves to suggest alliances.”</p><p>“Counts may be,” Olivia said soberly, “but their Countesses are not.  Yuri has developed quite a nasty reputation, Piotr.” </p><p>“He is my Emperor.”  In the end it always came down to that unalterable fact.  </p><p>As always, it was a statement which ended all discussion.  </p><p>
  <span class="u">Spring</span>
</p><p>They were arguing again.  Olivia sat on the bench outside the French doors to her husband’s study, embroidery frame and needle in hand.  Count Falco and his younger brother Ivan Vorpatril, Count Vorrutyer and his firebrand of a son and heir, and Piotr going round and round in circles.  Wasting a lot of words as each tried fruitlessly to convince the other.  She sometimes felt like screaming in frustration as she listened to the same old tired debate.  She knew, however, Piotr would not thank her if she interrupted.  She was a woman; her place was with her painting and sewing and the children - at least in public, no matter that she talked politics with him in private.  </p><p>The only good that would come out of this was that she and her sister would be able to have a nice long visit.  Little Padma had been sickly when he was born and her sister had had a long and difficult childbirth; Olivia had spent weeks visiting the Vorpatril household last Autumn.  It was lovely to have them visit now – to be able to see her sister’s cheeks rosy with good health, and see how Padma had grown.  </p><p>“I don’t know why you always insist on listening,” murmured Sonia.  “We could be in the garden with the children and the dogs, enjoying ourselves, instead of listening to Yuri's latest atrocity and political intrigues.” </p><p>“Politics are important,” Olivia whispered fiercely. </p><p>“Perhaps…,” Sonia allowed. “But what’s going on in there is just the same old, same old.  If they actually planned an insurrection, maybe….”  </p><p>“Piotr will never be disloyal.”  </p><p>“More’s the pity.”  </p><p>“Sonia!”</p><p>“Don’t pretend you approve of Yuri any more than I do.”  </p><p>The two women’s eyes met in understanding and sympathy. </p><p>“They are just waiting on Piotr, you know,” Sonia said. “All the talk will come to nothing while he remains loyal.”  </p><p>The two women sat in silence for a few more moments, listening to male voices rise and fall inside the room behind them, before, silently, they rose as one and walked down the path toward the garden. </p><p>Once out of earshot, Sonia tried once more, “You could change his mind, Olivia; you know you could.”</p><p>“He is Vorkosigan – he is loyal. I cannot ask him to be other than he is.”</p>
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